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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27016906">Black Fingertips and Split Knuckles</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinyDemonWriter/pseuds/TinyDemonWriter'>TinyDemonWriter</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>5+1 Things, Angst, Artist Gavin Reed, Depression, Elijah Kamski &amp; Gavin Reed are Siblings, Graffiti, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Like, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, References to Depression, Slow Burn, Swearing, but after that.... we shall see..., gavina and tina are mlm/wlw solidarity, homie isnt introduced until chpater 5 slow, its not called that but thats what it is guys, just so much swearing, no you cant change my mind, thank you gavin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 02:42:11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,172</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27016906</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinyDemonWriter/pseuds/TinyDemonWriter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Art is messy and beautiful and something that's always changing. It's different in how it can be expressed, what it can express, and it changes over the course of someone's life as they find new things to say, new reasons to draw or paint or sculpt.</p><p>Or, Gavin and how he finds art, falls in love, abandons art, and rediscovers parts of himself he thought he left behind, gets a boyfriend, and accomplishes his dreams, not necessarily in that order.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tina Chen &amp; Gavin Reed, Upgraded Connor | RK900/Gavin Reed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>28</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Piece</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>
  <b>Piece (short form of masterpiece):</b>
</p><p> </p><p>A large, complex, and labor-intensive graffiti painting.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He’s four when he first sees them. He’s walking hand in hand with his mom down the streets of downtown Detroit, headed towards the grocery store. They’ve been walking for what feels like forever and Gavin is bored out of his mind, so when he spots what looks like the only color on the boring street, he’s immediately interested.</p><p>“What’s that?” he asks, pointing to the large picture along the side of a long abandoned building. He knows it’s a picture, he’s not dumb, but most buildings don’t have pictures of pretty women who’s eyes have been crossed out with a large black X on them.</p><p>“That’s art,” she replies, looking to where he’s smiling with a smile on her face.</p><p>“Like your books? But why is it there?” He persists, ever curious</p><p>She hums, “Sort of like my sketchbooks. But it’s a little different.”</p><p>“How?”</p><p>“Well, when it’s on buildings and such it’s called graffiti instead of a sketch. It’s different because it’s against the law.”</p><p>“What?” Gavin exclaims, eyes wide in shock. “Why?”</p><p>“Well,” she says, tilting her head in thought. “Those are on someone else’s property. My sketchbooks are mine, so I’m allowed to draw on those. I don’t own those buildings though, so I can’t draw on them.”</p><p>“Oh… So if you owned the building you could draw on them?”</p><p>“I suppose so,” she laughs. “But sketchbooks are much cheaper.”</p><p>“But they look so cool,” Gavin says longingly, looking at the mosaic of colors on the building.</p><p>“That they do,” she says. “Would you like to try?”</p><p>“But you just said it was against the law,” he says, confused.</p><p>“That’s true!” She laughs. “I meant would you like to try drawing? We can get you a sketchbook and everything.”</p><p>Gavin looks down at his feet, nose scrunched up in thought. “Okay!” His mother laughs as she turns the corner, taking him into an art store and thoughts of graffiti are pushed aside in favor of markers and paper and pencil and his mother's gentle hands guiding him towards the perfect sketchbook.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Burner</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>
  <b>Burner:</b>
</p><p>A large, more elaborate type of piece. The piece could be said to be "burning" out of the wall, billboard, or train-side.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Gavin doesn’t really know how the argument started, he only knows that he needs to get out. His forearm hurts where his father had grabbed it and squeezed hard enough to bruise, and the stench of whiskey is heavy in the air. He backs up, getting distance from his father, and angling himself closer to the exit of the kitchen.</p><p>Glancing back towards his father he makes a decision. He ducks under the fist that’s aimed towards his face and grabs his bag from where it was at his feet. Then, he runs as fast as he can towards the front door.</p><p>He hears a crash behind him, a glass or plate or whatever, it doesn’t really matter. All that matters is getting away. He slides a bit as he reaches the hall to the front door, shoving his feet into his shoes and yanking the front door open in quick, panicked movements.</p><p>Gavin darts out of the house, uncaring of the curses his father hurls at his back. He’s drunk and likely wouldn’t remember this tomorrow anyway so who the fuck cares. Not Gavin, that’s for damn sure. He’s angry and his heart is pounding in his chest, a thundering cadence of <i>get out, lash out, scream, anger, fearfearfear</i>, and he knows he can’t do this again. Not tonight.</p><p>Tomorrow his father will apologize for this, say it won’t happen again and Gavin will nod and forgive him even if he knows that this will happen again, in a day or a week or a month or just whenever his father decides sobriety just isn’t for him again. And then this fucking song and dance will happen again. It’s a cycle, and one he only has to deal with for two more years, then he’s out of that house and somewhere else, anywhere else.</p><p>But tonight, he just can’t deal with it. So he lets his thundering heart drive his feet forward into a brutal pace as far away from this house as possible.</p><p>He doesn’t know how long he runs, only knows that he doesn’t recognize where he is and he doesn’t care. He takes in the alley he’s in, grimy and disgusting, but untouched, and he drops his bag at his feet. A quick glance around shows that no one’s around and his heart is pounding again. He remembers his mom saying that this was illegal and her indulgence of his curiosity and he swallows against the fear of getting caught. He smirks to himself and kneels, grabbing the black spray can out of the bag.</p><p>It’s the first time he’s trying this, and he doesn’t really know what it’ll accomplish. He just knows that he decided the next time he had to run from bruising hands he would try and sort through his pain the only way he knew how.</p><p>Standing, he takes a deep breath and he thinks about what he wants to sketch out. The anger is still there, and he focuses on it. He thinks of the bruises on his arm and the smell of whiskey on his father's breath and he brings the can up and starts to paint.</p><p>It’s different from the sketchbooks he used to draw in before his mom left. It’s messier for one, harder to control. A straight line is damn near impossible to get but that’s okay. He doesn’t want clean, doesn’t want easy or pretty. Hasn’t wanted that for years. He wants the mess, it’s more accurate to what’s going on in his head.</p><p>Gavin doesn’t know how long he stands there, his world narrowed down to the sound of the can and the anger in his veins. He paints until the sun sets, eyes squinting in the faint light of the street lamps around the corner. He paints until his arm and wrists start to ache, and then he switches hands until that starts aching, too.</p><p>After an indeterminable amount of time, he takes a step back. The anger is still there, as it always is, but with it is a sense of satisfaction he hasn’t felt in years.</p><p>It’s a mess, more a feeling than a picture of any one thing. The lines are jagged, completely broken off in places. There’s a void of just black in the center where the lines originate from, heavy in a way that the rest of the piece isn’t. There are splatters along the edge, random in size and location. It’s like looking at a dark nebula, the birth of a star that seems to pulse with quiet anger and agony.</p><p>It isn’t pretty, isn’t going to be winning any contests, that’s for damn sure. But that’s, perhaps, why he likes it.</p><p>As he’s admiring it, grin spreading across his face, he hears sirens and he whips his head to the mouth of the alley. <i>Shit,</i> he thinks, quickly packing his things. He hears the sound of footsteps coming closer, the sound of keys jingling in tandem to those steps. <i>Shit, shit, shit.</i> He turns to the other end of the alley, a fence, and he runs.</p><p>Maybe he’s being followed, maybe he isn’t. He only knows how to run like he’s being chased anyway, feet an unsteady flight away from his destruction. Or maybe he’s rushing headlong toward it, given his destination.</p><p>Eventually, however, he grows tired and lost. He comes to a stop, hands on his knees and curses as he realizes he forgot to tag his work. Whatever, he may not even continue it if he nearly got caught his first time out. Fuck.</p><p>He listens carefully and he doesn’t hear much of anything, just the sound of the city at night. Cars in the distance and people walking and talking. He must be near downtown, only a couple streets over. With a sigh, he starts making his way towards the sound, and picks his way home.</p><p>He walks, thinking of the feeling of satisfaction, looking at his work on the side of a building for all to see. The thrill of someone looking at it and maybe understanding this void in him that’s filled with anger of a broken home and a fucked up past. Present. Whatever.</p><p><i>Still, wouldn’t want to go to jail,</i> he muses. Not like he could count on his father to bail him out after all. He looks at his hands, at the paint on the fingertips, and curls them into fists. Jamming them into his pockets, he looks up and resolves not to think about it as he gets home.</p><p>He doesn’t know how long it takes to get home. He only knows that when he makes it back it’s well past midnight and the house is silent, front door locked. That doesn’t really matter, though. He climbs up the tree right next to his bedroom and opens his window, and crawls in.</p><p>He flips on the light and slinks through his house, careful to not make noise. He can hear his father’s snores down the hall, in the living room. He probably fell asleep on the couch again, too drunk to make his way back to his room. Gavin sneers to himself, and steps into the bathroom. He cleans himself up as quietly as he can and watches the water slide down the drain, black to grey to clear and remembers the brief feeling of satisfaction looking at his work.</p><p>Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but soon, he promises to himself as he eases himself into bed. Soon.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Just as a heads up, chapters will probably be longer and longer with each new addition. I... may have a problem shh...</p><p>Anyway, if you have any questions, comments, concerns, etc. direct them to my <a href="https://tinydemondragon.tumblr.com/">tumblr</a>!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Throw-up</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>
  <b>Throw-up</b>
</p>
<p>A throw-up or "throwie" sits between a tag and a bomb in terms of complexity and time investment. It generally consists of a one-color outline and one layer of fill-color. Easy-to-paint bubble shapes often form the letters.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Gavin is finally out of that fucking house, away from his father. Away from his words and his hands and the constant comparisons to a brother his father isn’t even allowed to see. Away from Detroit.</p>
<p>He has no idea what college is going to be like, much less what it’s going to be like in fucking New York City, but anything would be better than that place. Anything.</p>
<p>Gavin grunts as he sets down the last box of his stuff. He’s the only one here right now, but he’s supposed to be dorming with someone else. He hasn’t bothered getting in touch with his dorm mate, doesn’t know anything about them. They could be a boy or girl or neither, whatever. All Gavin knows is that they aren’t here so he can claim the right side of the room without issue.</p>
<p>He begins unpacking his boxes and bags. Most of his things he threw out, either too used or he didn’t have enough room in the tiny uhaul he had managed to save up for. But what little he did keep starts to get put into drawers and on the desk.</p>
<p>There really isn’t a lot. After an hour or so, he’s down to one bag and the room still looks pretty empty. No posters, or knick knacks, and his bookshelf only has dust on it. Still, he’s proud of what little he has, and he knows he can start buying things, making the place look more lived in.</p>
<p>Before he can unpack the last bag, the door slams against the wall and Gavin turns to look at his dorm mate.</p>
<p>She’s short, Asian, and strong as hell if the giant box she’s carrying is any indication. Her face is scrunched up in a grimace, and she smiles sheepishly at Gavin.</p>
<p>“Hey roomie!” Gavin freezes as the realization of what having a dorm mate means. He’s been putting off thinking of it, what it means to share space with someone. The last person he was living with was, well.</p>
<p>And now he has to share an even smaller space with someone, a room. He’s (sort of) an only child, and he doesn’t know how to share a fucking room, he’s never had to. He isn’t panicking, okay, he’s processing and just realizing that he’s never done this. Doesn’t know how.</p>
<p>Shit, this is why he never bothered to get in contact with his dorm mate in the first place, isn’t it?</p>
<p>It’s silent as realization hits him. It’s been silent for too long, actually, but he doesn’t know how to break it. Tina just stares at him, before saying. “O-kay, name’s Tina, and you are?”</p>
<p>“Gavin.”</p>
<p>It’s silent again as Gavin tries to push the feeling that isn’t panic down. They just look at each other, Gavin with his arms crossed against his chest and Tina holding her box.</p>
<p>“Anyway, I’m gonna grab the rest of my things, this everything of yours?”</p>
<p>“Yeah.”</p>
<p>She stares at him a moment longer, like she’s waiting for more, before she rolls her eyes and turns and leaves. Great. This is gonna just be great, he can tell.</p>
<p>~~~</p>
<p>Two months in and it’s going about as well as Gavin expected. After the awkwardness that was their first encounter, their relationship hasn’t improved. Tina is never around and when she is, Gavin is usually too wound up from having to sit through boring ass classes to bother trying to be nice. They’ve devolved into snippy comments and passive aggressively putting things on each other's beds.</p>
<p>In the past week alone Gavin has gone to fall into his bed and sleep for about twelve hours only to fall head first into a pair of his own shoes. Probably a response to the amount of times Gavin has broken the tips of Tina’s eyeliner pencils.</p>
<p>Okay, maybe those things are expensive, but she keeps leaving them on his desk after waking him up at the ass crack of dawn to get her wings right. It’s annoying and he’s even more of an asshole before his coffee, sue him.</p>
<p>It took a while to get used to someone waking so early without the sound of crashing, stomping feet following. He still isn’t used to it, really, but he thinks one day he could be. It’s been the only good thing that’s come out of living with her, really.</p>
<p>Outside of Tina, he doesn’t really deal with anyone else. In the first couple weeks of classes people attempted to talk to him, but generally gave up when he snapped at them for interrupting him.</p>
<p>Side note, who the fuck walks up to someone when they have both earbuds in blasting music and introduces themself? What the fuck did they think was gonna happen, Gavin suddenly being their best friend? No, fuck you, everyone knows that two earbuds in means leave that person the fuck alone.</p>
<p>So, he doesn’t really have much of a social life and <i>that’s fine</i>. He isn’t lonely, <i>he isn’t</i>. He’s actively pushed away the few people brave enough to try and have more than two conversations with him. He wants to be alone dammit, he isn’t lonely.</p>
<p>
 The only real thing he has to look forward to is his art class. It isn’t drawing, he hasn’t touched a sketchbook in years. Instead he’s taking a painting class, trying to chase the feeling of pride, satisfaction, dark alleys, sirens and running and-
</p>
<p>
 Something. He’s chasing something but he doesn’t know what the destination is. Something is missing from his class, and it’s endlessly frustrating.
</p>
<p>
 It is a reprieve though, from the pressing feeling on his chest he refuses to name. His pieces are always darker than the rest of his classmates but he doesn’t really care. He isn’t there for them, he’s there for himself, as he always has been, fuck the rest.
</p>
<p>There is some satisfaction in the things he paints, but it isn’t enough. He doesn’t know why, just knows that something isn’t there.
</p>
<p>
 Gavin’s pondering this, earbuds in, when he gets to his dorm. The music in his ears is a crashing clash of symbols and drums and guitar and it’s loud enough that he can’t hear anything else around him. So, he doesn’t notice Tina is crying until he looks up from shucking his shoes off and sees her red-rimmed eyes.
</p>
<p>
  He freezes in place. He hardly ever cries himself, and has no clue how to deal with those tears, much less someone else's. She’s staring at him wide eyed, and the light catches on tear tracks, perfect wings a puddle at the top of her cheeks.
</p>
<p>
 Tina breaks eye contact first, furiously wiping her face, smearing the eyeliner worse than before. She says something that may be a question but Gavin can’t hear it. He yanks his earbuds out, trying to understand, but he’s too slow to catch what she says.
</p>
<p>
“What was that?” he asks, voice coming out harsher in his confusion, defaulting to annoyance.
</p>
<p>
“Nothing, whatever, just pretend you didn’t see anything okay? I don’t need your shit today,” Tina grumbles a bit, valiantly trying to pretend she isn’t sniffling.
</p>
<p>
“Right,” he says, slowly continuing to take his shoes off. She just flops back on her bed, and he notices that her phone, usually in her hand or her pockets, is on the other side of the room, on the floor.
</p>
<p>
A glance at the wall it’s sitting under shows a dent, and another look shows a crack in the screen. The only conclusion he can draw is that she threw her phone at the wall in a fit of something. Anger, probably.
</p>
<p>
If Gavin had to guess, he’d say she had a shitty phone call, maybe something to do with parents or something. He has no idea what her personal life is, but it seems like he’s just stumbled into the middle of it.
</p>
<p>
Tina grumbles under her breath, and he can barely hear it from where she’s laying, arm thrown across her face. The only thing that he can really understand is “go” and “drink.” They’re underage, but it’s not like that’s really stopped anyone.
</p>
<p>
He thinks back to the bag he has stashed under his bed, the one that he’s only opened once. It has a bottle of cheap whiskey, something he stole from his father. He wanted to understand what the appeal was, but a single sip had him gagging at the taste. Not fucking worth it.
</p>
<p>
He kept it out of spite though. Not that it mattered, since his father just went and bought another one, probably assuming he had drank it without remembering.
</p>
<p>
Gavin scowls, and without giving himself time to think about it he walks to his bed and kneels beside it. He digs through the duffle he has it tucked away in, and grabs the bag.
</p>
<p>
Still not thinking about it, he stands and walks over to Tina’s bed. Her arm is still across her face, but her legs are dangling off the side of it. He kicks her, lightly, and watches as that arm jerks, before she glares up at him.
</p>
<p>
“I literally just said I didn’t want to deal with your shit, what do you want?” It’s the most aggressive she’s ever sounded, the snarl evident in the bite of her words. It’d shock him, if he wasn’t used to people sounding like that after talking to him.
</p>
<p>
Gavin knows he doesn’t have much in the way of tact, so he just shoves the bottle towards her. He’s careful not to actually intrude on her personal space, but he does relish in the way she jumps.
</p>
<p>
Just because he’s trying to do something… nice or whatever, doesn’t mean he’s gonna let her attitude slide.
</p>
<p>
She stares at the bottle, then back at him. “What’s this?”
</p>
<p>
"You said you wanted a drink, didn’t you? Here you go.” She just keeps staring at him and he rolls his eyes. “Fuck it, if you won’t drink it, I will. Have to down the whole thing if I’m gonna be dealing with you balling.”
</p>
<p>
The words are rude, meant to bait her into responding, but she doesn’t say anything. Just keeps staring at him with a blank expression. It’s a little creepy, honestly, the way she’s just looking at him. He’s just starting to feel uncomfortable when she speaks up.

</p>
<p>
 “Why?” Tina’s voice is soft, hesitant in a way he’s never heard before. When she’s not snapping at him, she’s confident and kind. She’s a good person, he knows this from the conversations he can’t help but hear while she’s on the phone. When he’s pretending to sleep so he doesn’t have to deal with her. She can be an asshole, true, but so is Gavin so he doesn’t really mind.
</p>
<p>It makes him more uncomfortable than he’s willing to admit, and her question is one he isn’t sure he knows the answer to. Maybe he’s feeling sympathy or whatever. Maybe he respects the fact that she can just let herself cry. Gavin can’t, even when he’s utterly alone and knows no one can judge. Even when his body is begging to, pain and agony and anger wanting, <i>needing</i>, an outlet.</p>
<p> He can’t just tell her that, though. Doesn’t know the right way to phrase it, and he doesn’t care enough to try and find the words. Instead he rolls his eyes again, and goes to take away the bottle.
</p>
<p>
“Fuck, see if I ever try to do something nice for someone again, ungrateful-”
</p>
<p>
She’s fast, he’ll give her that, too. Tina snatches the bottle from his hands and has the cap off in record speed. She drinks straight from the bottle without even a flinch and Gavin can’t help but respect her. Just a bit. He thinks, again, of the one time he tried it and hears the echoes of glass shattering in his mind. 
</p>
<p>
She wipes her face, and there’s already a flush starting to rise on her face, but she’s not crying anymore. Gavin counts that as good enough and returns to his bed.
</p>
<p>
“She cheated on me. Had been, apparently, for about a month before I found out. She just called, trying to tell me it was my fault and just-” she cuts herself off with a huff.
</p>
<p>
Gavin tries to process this information. He’s never really been in a relationship before. Not unless you count rushed kisses in the guys bathroom between classes that end before they even really get going. So, this is a bit out of his wheelhouse.
</p>
<p>
“Bitch,” he mutters. He’s trying, but damn he really has nothing to say in this situation.
</p>
<p>
  Thankfully that’s enough, and Tina snorts. “Yeah, yeah I guess so, huh?”
</p>
<p>
It’s enough encouragement for him to add, “you deserve better than that.”
</p>
<p>
“You don’t really know me, but thanks I guess.”
</p>
<p>
Gavin frowns. True, he doesn’t know her, but he thinks of screaming matches and a half brother he’s only met once. Of torn sketchbooks and the sound of jangling keys being cut off by the sound of a door slamming. Thinks of stinging cheeks and whiskey laced breath lashing out because he couldn’t own up to his own fucking mistakes.
</p>
<p>
“Trust me, no one deserves to be cheated on. And it’s not your fault she was an unloyal fuck." He pauses and says again, “you deserve better than that.”
</p>
<p>
Tina’s sitting up properly, and they’ve turned towards each other at some point. She regards him for a long moment before asking, “been cheated on before?”
</p>
<p>
“No. No not me.” He doesn’t elaborate. She may be willing to spill her story, but Gavin sure as hell isn’t.
</p>
<p>
That seems to be enough for her, because she nods before taking another swig of whiskey straight from the bottle. She holds her arm out, gesturing for him to take it.
</p>
<p>
 He grabs it and doesn’t let himself think as he takes a drink. He grimaces, and Tina lets out a small laugh at the look on his face. “Gonna drink the whole bottle yourself, right asshole?” The words could be seen as harsh, but her tone is far from it. Gavin just grumbles a bit, before taking another drink, ignoring the burn and the phantom pains on his ribs.
</p>
<p>
They sit in silence for a bit before, slowly, whiskey settling into their systems, they start to talk. The subject jumps around a bit, from stupid shit like favorite movies and foods, to serious things as the day continues. They stop for a bit, to eat something, but not for long. Gavin reluctantly shares the fact that his mom left when he was young, after finding out about his father's loose definition of faithfulness. In return, Tina talks about being adopted by white parents, and the difficulties of connecting to her heritage when her parents don’t seem to give a shit about learning or helping her learn.
</p>
<p>
It’s well into the night when they return to the subject of Megan, Tina’s ex.
</p>
<p>
“I just- It’s so fucking stupid,” Tina says, words slurred but still understandable. They’ve not gotten through even half of the bottle, but they are both feeling the effect of the alcohol regardless. 
</p>
<p>
“Fuck yeah it is,” Gavin says, warm and loose limbed. He isn’t exactly relaxed, but he’s not as tense as he usually feels.
</p>
<p>
“It pisses me off,” Tina continues, Gavin nodding along to her words. “Like, who- what the fuck? How is it my fault? That’s the stupidest fuckin thing.” Gavin nods again, harder and nearly loses his balance.

</p>
<p>
“I get it, that anger. Feels like, like,” he fumbles for a bit, trying to find the words but he can’t find them. He’s always been better at putting them down on a canvas than he has aloud. He thinks of the alley again, the piece he left there, and finds himself wishing he had taken a picture that night. He had gone back, only once, to see that it had been buffed, washed off the building.
</p>
<p>“Wait, wait, I just had the best idea,” he continues instead. He gets up and is pleasantly surprised by the fact that he can walk in a straight line, if you ignore the fact that the room is kinda wonky. That’s the room's fault, though, not his.
</p>
<p>
Tina giggles from where she’s sitting on the floor, both of them having migrated to the space between their beds at some point. He manages to stumble his way to his closet, and, more importantly, the bag at the bottom. He roots around in it before his hands make contact with something metallic and he pulls it out with a pleased grin.
</p>
<p>
“Ever done graffiti?” he asks, grinning.
</p>
<p>
~~~
</p>
<p>
 An hour or so later, they’re in a secluded alley. They’re not too far from the hubbub of New York City, but it’s far enough away that they don’t feel watched. The cool night air has sobered them up a little, but not enough to completely erase their confidence that they won’t get caught.
</p>
<p>
“So, what do we put up?” Tina asks, as they stare up at a mostly unmarked wall. There’s ghosts left behind, works that have been removed, but not entirely. It looks like there may have been words here, once, but they’re too faint to read.
</p>
<p>
"I dunno, whatever, I guess.” Gavin replies, handing her the can. He had awkwardly stuffed it in his coat and he was eager to hand it over so he wouldn’t have to deal with it any more.
</p>
<p>
She grabs it and turns to look at the wall. Her nose scrunches up in thought, and it would be cute, if Gavin had any interest in girls what-so-ever. As it was, she just looked weird, and Gavin snorted at it.
</p>
<p>She pursed her lips at him, narrowing her eyes. “You’re the one who’s done this before, show me how it's done, asshole.” She throws the can at him and he only just manages to catch it.
</p>
<p>
He turns to look at the wall, and thinks about what he wants to paint. Smirking to himself, he begins to spray, trying to keep his lines as clear as possible.
</p>
<p>
It’s still not great, but halfway through Tina catches on and starts laughing, loud enough they’re sure to be caught, but Gavin doesn’t really care. By the time he’s done, she’s calmed down a bit, wiping tears from her eyes. In front of them, in stylized, cartoonish font, is the word BITCH, an exaggerated angry face drawn in the space of the C.
</p>
<p>
Gavin grins, and hands the can to Tina. “Your turn.” She smirks and, underneath his piece she shakily spells out “FUCK YOU!” It’s about as straight as they are, but they don’t care, giggling to themselves as the words take shape.
</p>
<p>
Tina hands it back, smearing paint on the edge of Gavin’s coat as she does so, but Gavin finds he doesn’t actually care. They take a step back to admire their handiwork, and Gavin remembers that he never got the time to tag his last work.
</p>
<p>
There’s not a lot of paint left in the can, so it’ll have to be simple. He shakes it absentmindedly as he thinks of what to do. He thinks of their earlier conversations, of the light things and the heavy ones, and decides.
</p>
<p>
“Nine?” Tina asks, noting the number he’s adding.
</p>
<p>
“Yeah,” Gavin says. “It’s when mom walked out.” And somehow, to him, it makes sense to make that his tag. He hands the can back to Tina. “Think there’s enough left for you to add something, if you want.”
</p>
<p>
She nods, and he can tell that she’s thinking. Underneath his nine, she adds the number three. “It’s how old I was when my birth parents died,” she says as she finishes.
</p>
<p>The mood is solemn for a moment before the sounds of sirens knocks them out of their thoughts. They turn to look at each other and Tina drops the can as they start sprinting away from the alley.
</p>
<p>
They aren’t scared per se, and Gavin doesn’t think they’re being pursued, but they could be and the thought is thrilling. The sense of danger is heady, and the adrenaline rush is almost addicting, pushing him to run faster and faster, ducking behind buildings and pushing through the throngs of people as they breach the city.
</p>
<p><i>Oh</i>, Gavin thinks to himself as he races down the street. His heart is pounding in his ears and he can hear Tina’s breathless laughter from barely a step behind him. <i>This is what was missing.</i> He smiles to himself as he pushes himself to go faster, through the crowded streets of the city that never sleeps.</p>
<p>
And as he lays down that night, coming down from the adrenaline rush, he tells himself he isn’t lonely and it doesn’t sound like a lie.
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hey another chapter! Also I wasn't kidding when I said that the chapters were going to get longer as this went on, as this is nearly three times as long as the other two chapters combined!</p>
<p>Also, if this wasn't angst filled enough, don't worry about it. I've got you :)</p>
<p>If you have any questions, comments, concerns, etc. direct them to my <a href="https://tinydemondragon.tumblr.com/">tumblr</a>!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Ghost</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>
  <b>Ghost</b>
</p>
<p>The mark left after paint or ink has been unsuccessfully buffed.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey! I don't usually put these at the beginning of the chapter, but as a heads up, this chapter has heavy themes of depression. Please take care and read with caution.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Over the next year, they only go out to downtown New York and graffiti alleys and signs only two more times, always together and always when one of them is having a shitty day.</p>
<p>The first time is when Gavin is overwhelmed by anger, seemingly for no reason. He’s just angry, full of vitriol and snapping at everyone, even when he knows he shouldn’t. He snaps at Tina and she drags them out of the dorm. Two hours later, he apologizes, in his awkward stilted way, getting food and knocking shoulders with her. She forgives him by jabbing him in the ribs and buying oreos.</p>
<p>The second time, it’s Tina who’s angry. She’s not as loud about it, but he can tell in the tightness of her shoulders. The way she slams the door and her books, and nearly cracks her new phone. In the way she tells him to shut up when he asks her what’s up. He grabs her, much the same way she grabbed him, and drags her out, uncaring of the late hour. It takes an hour, but the frustration comes pouring out of her as they paint, and she’s laughing by the time they get back.</p>
<p>It helps them, though Gavin can tell it only helps Tina because he’s there. She has no interest in the activity itself, but the fact that they share this helps.</p>
<p>A few times Gavin has been tempted to go out on his own to do it, but he always stops at the last second. He doesn’t know why, but something in him hesitates every time he starts towards the door and he abandons the plan at the last second.</p>
<p>This activity, however, isn’t the only thing that brings them together. By the end of the semester, Gavin is willing to say that Tina is his friend. By the end of the year, she’s become his best friend.</p>
<p>They seem to click in a way that makes no sense from an outside perspective, seemingly clashing personalities that shouldn’t mix. But Tina refuses to take his shit and Gavin encourages her to let herself rage in a way that leaves you feeling satisfied. It just works.</p>
<p>That summer, they both decided to stay for the summer semester. At this point, Gavin knows that Tina’s adoptive parents, in addition to not helping her connect to her culture, are also homophobic. They seem to think she just needs to find the right man, something that infuriates her. It’s been the subject of many late night bitching sessions.</p>
<p>Tina’s also aware of how shitty his dad is. She refuses point blank to let him go back, even though he hadn’t even considered doing so. Gavin would take offense to her saying he shouldn’t go back if it wasn’t Tina. She knows he can deal with it, she just doesn’t think he should.</p>
<p>That summer is spent with light classes, and trying to figure out what major they should actually do. Tina came for engineering at her parents’ request but she hates it. Gavin hadn’t declared yet, and still doesn’t know what to decide on.</p>
<p>All in all, it’s a pretty good year. Gavin still gets his space, Tina going out to parties and coming back the next morning, in the same clothes that are almost always worse for wear, hair a mess. </p>
<p>And Gavin thinks, tentatively, that things are finally looking up. That life has been a bitch to him but maybe it’s better now. He can move on from the shit in his past and be better for it, or whatever.</p>
<p>Then he starts his second fall semester and things very quickly go south.</p>
<p>It starts a couple weeks into the semester. Things have been picking up in pace, and he can’t say he’s particularly happy in any of his classes, but fuck this english class in particular. He doesn’t have time to read five articles and write three paragraphs on those articles a week.</p>
<p>But that’s fine, Gavin can deal with that. He starts drinking more coffee and sleeping less. It’s whatever, he can deal with it.</p>
<p>And then Tina comes in talking about how someone created a robot, an android, that passed the turing test. Gavin doesn’t see the point in having a robot do your shit for you, he’s always had to do things himself. It’s the way things are supposed to be. But, besides finding it weird, he ignores it for the most part. It has nothing to do with him.</p>
<p>Until he sees the news himself and sees a face he hasn’t seen in almost a decade.</p>
<p>Elijah has changed from the gap-toothed kid he used to be. His eyes are bright and his smile is wide as he shows off the android beside him, something he named Chloe. But Gavin doesn’t care about the overpriced toy beside Elijah, not really.</p>
<p>He’s struck by how similar and how different they look. Elijah is still skinnier than him, but he looks happier. Freer. Unplauged by the pains of life, he looks far younger and healthier and-</p>
<p>And Gavin has always compared himself to people, he can’t help it. He’s always compared himself to Elijah, in particular, how could he not? After all, in some of his more coherent, but still drunk, moments his father would do the same.</p>
<p>Elijah is younger, smarter, richer than Gavin is and the only reason why his father put up with Gavin was because he couldn’t legally see Elijah and someone had to look after Gavin. Or so he was told.</p>
<p>But, he has Tina now. Someone who knows him well and doesn’t let him wallow in his own self pity too much. They go out again, and Gavin tells himself he’s fine, that it doesn’t bother him.</p>
<p>And things seem… Normal.</p>
<p>Almost.</p>
<p>And then a month later he gets a call from Detroit and any hope of normalcy, of gaining peace or happiness or whatever bullshit he thought he could gain by moving to New York is instantly gone.</p>
<p>A hit and run, they say. A drunk driver that wasn’t fast enough in swerving out of the way when his father decided to cross the street on his way to the liquor store.</p>
<p>It’s almost ironic enough to be funny.</p>
<p>Almost.</p>
<p>Everything comes to a screeching halt after that. Gavin packs a bag for a week, long enough to go to the funeral that’s already been arranged by Elijah of all people. Long enough to hopefully go through all the things his father had left him, if he had left him anything at all.</p>
<p>His professors tell him to take his time and email them when he’s ready to go back to class and Tina bullies her way into going with him, despite his protests. She really is his best friend, and he’s secretly relieved he doesn’t have to go back to Detroit alone.</p>
<p>Detroit isn’t a warm place, nor is it the sunniest place in the world, but that day, October 17th, is sunny and almost warm enough to wear a t-shirt. Gavin wears a leather jacket anyway, feeling too exposed without it.</p>
<p>The funeral is a quick affair, very few people attending. Someone gives a speech about how hard working Daniel was, how he continued on even past his wife leaving him. How brave he was, raising a kid all on his own. How he would want everyone to continue on, how they should think of the good days instead of the sad ones, like there were very many good days at all.</p>
<p>Gavin leaves early, Tina at his side.</p>
<p>The next couple days are spent in a daze. His father left the house to him, what little money he had left, and any possessions he had as well. He gave almost nothing to anyone else, or so he’s told. Honestly, Gavin has a hard time processing anything at all.</p>
<p>Tina’s back in New York, finishing out her semester. It took a lot of convincing, she wanted to stay with him here in Detroit.</p>
<p>Because that’s a thing. He’s staying here, in Detroit, and finishing out his semester remotely.</p>
<p>Part of him wants to flee this house, these walls, to pack up and go to New York and never come back.</p>
<p>A bigger part of himself doesn’t know how to leave. Doesn’t know how to run without a monster at his heels, pushing him forward, at his thoughts, at his will to keep going. Fight or flight, only it’s a constant fear of <i>something</i> instead of a short instance that is over seemingly before it begins.</p>
<p>His thoughts have been turning over and over, nonsensical and surface level at best because thinking deeply about this-</p>
<p>Gavin starts cleaning the house. The bottles and the whiskey stains. Repairing and repainting cracked drywall. Ripping up carpet and placing down a new one. Mindless labour that he can pretend is more for reselling the house than it is to keep his thoughts quieter so he doesn’t think about-</p>
<p>After it’s cleaned, he starts going through all the different things left behind, selling and throwing out things without letting himself think too deeply about it. He grabs his phone and turns on music, blasting it so he doesn’t hear the echoes of shattering glass.</p>
<p>So he doesn’t miss the sound of hysterical giggles over something he said that really wasn’t that funny.</p>
<p>It’s a slow process getting all his stuff to Detroit. Or, not slow, he doesn’t think, but time is harder to really grasp right now. Days come and go in a blur of move, sort, clean, pack, and he has a hard time keeping track of things. Moving in a daze is easier than-</p>
<p>After things are done and everything but the attic has been gone through, Gavin finds himself sleeping a lot more than he usually did. He stops turning in homework, choosing the comfort of darkness behind his eyes and scattered meals. It’s easier to turn his brain off then.</p>
<p>Well, if you ignore the nightmares.</p>
<p>But he wakes up from those and chooses not to think about what they mean. Chooses to roll over and go right back to sleep.</p>
<p>He turns on the news, sometimes, when he can’t distract himself with cleaning or sorting and class seems like too much but he can’t seem to fall asleep.</p>
<p>The androids, as they’re being called, are advancing faster now, and CyberLife is hopeful that they’ll be selling more and more in the coming years. At the forefront of all of this is Elijah.</p>
<p>Gavin turns the TV off, when he hears his voice.</p>
<p>Except for one day, the remote seems so far away, and it’s too much effort to reach over and turn it off, so he just doesn’t.</p>
<p>The newswoman is some basic white lady, there to make sure people watch, but not someone with enough personality to distract from the story. From Elijah.</p>
<p>She asks about the death of his father, and Gavin finds himself focusing on the TV with more intensity than he thought possible.</p>
<p>Elijah smiles, sad and <i>false</i>. Says it was a tragedy and how he wished he had known the man better. About how there was a meeting with his company and how he cared so much about the public that he couldn’t possibly attend the funeral with their hopes on his shoulders. There were more important things, and have you heard of Chloe?</p>
<p>It’s bullshit, all of it is such bullshit and for the first time in a month the anger that used to simmer just under his skin pushes past the blank nothingness he has been. He snarls and snatches the remote and turns the damned thing off, not wanting to hear anymore of that smarmy shit that asshole has to say.</p>
<p>He wasn’t there with the heavy hands. He wasn’t there for the screaming and the constant comparisons and the questions as to why he couldn’t just be a better son. Wasn’t there for the screaming and the whiskey and the fear.</p>
<p>Wasn’t there for the sober days. For the apologies and the visits to the rollerdome and the ice cream and the shopping in stores that his father clearly didn’t care for but went there with Gavin regardless because Gavin wanted to. Wasn’t there for the birthday cakes, store bought but only because his father couldn’t bake to save his life. For-</p>
<p>Just as quickly as it comes, the anger leaves. He sinks back down onto the couch, unsure of when he stood up. And he closes his eyes, and he goes to sleep.</p>
<p>~~~</p>
<p>Something has to give, eventually. People aren’t made to exist in a void, floating between being a person and being dead.</p>
<p>Gavin hasn’t been working, the past couple weeks, living on what little savings and life insurance his father had before he passed. It’s been enough, it’s not like Gavin has been eating much anyway. He’s been slowly wasting away but he doesn’t care. Not really. That would require thinking and he’s been trying very hard not to do that, these past couple months.</p>
<p>It’s this limbo, this haze, that Tina finds him in over winter break. Gavin had been ghosting her for a while now, so it’s a shock to hear a knocking at the door and seeing her on the other side.</p>
<p>He blinks slowly at her, unable to find the words just yet.</p>
<p>She just looks at him, annoyance being swept away in an instant as she looks him over properly. “Oh Gavin,” she says, voice so very soft.</p>
<p>Gavin doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t say anything. He just moves and lets her in without saying a word. She has a bag with her, and she drops it off in the living room. Gavin sits on the couch, quiet as he has been the past few months. It’s strange, maybe, to Tina, as he never was even when they weren’t friends. She doesn’t comment on it, however, just sets to familiarizing herself with the layout of his father’s- of his house.</p>
<p>When she’s done, she sits on the couch and pulls him until he’s laying in her lap. Then she tangles her hands in his greasy hair and plays with it until he falls asleep again.</p>
<p>Gavin wakes up to the smell of pancakes and bacon and the sound of whispered swearing. He gets up off the couch and finds that he’s actually kind of hungry now. He wanders into the kitchen and sees Tina there and is startled.</p>
<p>Then he remembers that she did come here yesterday, despite everything.</p>
<p>“Mornin’ T,” he says, voice gravelly after disuse.</p>
<p>“Good, you’re up. Here, try this,” Tina says in response, pushing a plate piled with wonky pancakes. He sits down and does as she says.</p>
<p>They aren’t the best, not sweet enough for his taste, but he doesn’t know where the syrup is. They’re thick, too, in a way that feels heavy.</p>
<p>Despite this, he feels his lips twitch into something that could be a smile, before it falls again.</p>
<p>“S’alright,” he slurs, still eating.</p>
<p>“Shut up, I know I can’t cook, you know this,” Tina complains, but still trying her best. She throws something away and Gavin thinks he can see the charred remains of what could be called pancakes, before it’s covered by the lid again.</p>
<p>Gavin’s lips twitch once more.</p>
<p>After that, Tina gently bullies him into taking a shower. It takes more energy than he’s willing to admit, but he finally cleans himself off after who knows how long.</p>
<p>When he steps out of the bathroom, his head is clearer than it has been, even if it’s not fully online.</p>
<p>There’s still a sort of- emptiness, almost, in him. But it doesn’t feel as all encompassing with Tina here. She guides him outside, and he squints against the sunlight and turns to go back inside. He’s too tired for this shit, but Tina doesn’t care.</p>
<p>Or, she does, but she still pushes him to go. They go shopping, for Christmas, she says, though Gavin doesn’t really have a lot of people he would buy presents for. The few acquaintances he had from college he wasn’t really close enough with to justify spending money on them. And even if they were, they certainly aren’t anymore, given that he hasn’t talked to them since coming back to Detroit.</p>
<p>Still, Tina takes him anyway, and when it’s clear that he can’t stand it anymore, she guides him back home, too.</p>
<p>It’s a process, coming back to himself, and he’s still not there quite yet. He knows he should talk about the tangled mess of feelings he has, but he doesn’t know how. Words have never been his forte and he can’t bring himself to create.</p>
<p>Tina is there the whole time, regardless. She’s the one who asks him if there’s anything else that needs to be sorted. And when he says there’s still the attic, she’s the one who suggests helping him.</p>
<p>They go up that weekend, and start bringing box after box down. The movement is hard at first, but Gavin finds himself waking up more and more, the more boxes he lifts and moves. Bones and muscles and brain working together and waking up in tandem.</p>
<p>There’s more there than he had anticipated, the boxes heavy. Some are heavier than most, and Gavin sets these aside, knowing what’s in them and being unable to bring himself to sort it.</p>
<p>Most of it is junk, papers and clothes that don’t fit. They set these aside, and later that night Tina takes a lighter to it and then sets them alight in the fireplace. The twitch of his lips settles into a smile, brief as it was, for the first time since the funeral that night.

Other boxes have toys that he hasn’t seen since he was a kid. These they either throw away or sell, along with various other trinkets and knick knacks. Gavin still doesn’t touch those heaviest boxes, and Tina doesn’t push him to.</p>
<p>It isn’t until the next week, when Gavin is starting to eat more than once a day and is awake for most of it, that they open the first of the two boxes.</p>
<p>Inside are sketchbooks and canvases. They’re beautiful, all of them. Sketches of wings and landscapes. Portraits of people on the street. Paintings of scenery and abstracts and animals.</p>
<p>A picture, framed, taken a week before she found out that Elijah existed, of all of them together and happy.</p>
<p>Gavin picks it up, uncaring of how it blurs in his vision, and all the things he has tried not to think of come spilling out of his mouth.</p>
<p>“I should be happy, you know,” he starts, voice shaky. “He was a terrible father, really. Loud and aggressive and a drunk. I should be happy he’s dead and gone and that he will never, <i>ever</i> be able to hurt me again. But I guess this proves that he doesn’t have to be here to do that, huh?” Gavin laughs, but it’s a bitter, angry thing. He finds he’s grateful for that, now.</p>
<p>“His words live in my head and the only way to get them to shut up is to drown them out. I thought I was getting better, you know? Finding better ways to get them to fuck off, but then this bullshit happened and now they’re louder and more insistent and-</p>
<p>“It isn’t the bad days, though,” Gavin breathes, barely louder than a whisper. “It’s the good ones that hurt the most.”</p>
<p>It’s quiet after that. Tina wraps her arms around him and Gavin pretends like he can’t feel her shirt getting wet where his face is pressed into her neck.</p>
<p>~~~</p>
<p>They leave the boxes unpacked and in the attic as they go out for dinner. He feels… better. Not great, and he doesn’t think it’ll happen anytime soon, but he feels… not normal but better. They get cheap ass food, greasy and fast, and Gavin finds it’s easier to engage in conversation than it has been in weeks.</p>
<p>Part of that is that it’s well… It’s Tina. His best friend, his ride or die. He’d gladly take a bullet for her, though she’d hit him if he did. She cares more for his well being than he does, after all.</p>
<p>Still, it isn’t perfect. Sometimes she’ll say something and he feels like he should reply but can’t. She doesn’t let the silence linger, though, just presses on without any pressure on him to respond. It’s… nice.</p>
<p>After dinner, however, he’s surprised to feel a cool metal can being pushed into his hand, even though he really feels like he shouldn’t be at this point.</p>
<p>“Come on,” she says, grinning slyly. “Think you can find the first spot you hit?”</p>
<p>Gavin feels a responding grin on his own face, not as wide but a far cry from the blankness he’s felt for what feels like years now, even though it’s only been a couple months. “Fuck yeah, let’s do this!”</p>
<p>It takes an hour and they attract more than a few suspicious looks, but Gavin doesn’t give a fuck. This? This feels more like normalcy than anything else has so far.</p>
<p>They don’t find the exact spot. Or, maybe they do, Gavin doesn’t remember. But Gavin says this is close enough and he thinks he can see the ghost of the void he painted so long ago. Tina steps back, occasionally looking at the mouth of the alley, and lets him do his thing.</p>
<p>He decides on a black and brick portrait this time. It’s not easy or even very good but he doesn’t give a shit. He paints his father how he saw him. He paints the smile that he remembered on the good days, and the black tears that look thick enough to be blood.</p>
<p>Then he decides fuck it, and continues with that theme. He draws hands that look like they could be kind if they weren’t covered in scratches. He paints hair that tangles and eyes that are filled with black, a darkness that seems to call in a way invites and terrifies. And then he remembers a snippet of a memory. Walking downtown hand in hand with his mother, and he X’s the eyes out completely.</p>
<p>He steps back and is glad to feel the warmth of anger seeping into his bones.</p>
<p>Because anger is his anchor. It’s the easiest thing to feel because under that is a void that terrifies him. A void that reminds him of his father when he was too drunk to be angry. Anger reminds him of his father, of his mother as she stormed out, and maybe that should terrify him.</p>
<p>It does terrify him. But not as much as that blank nothingness does.</p>
<p>He let’s that anger push him forward as he adds more and more to the portrait, until any sign of kindness has been eradicated by the inky darkness that covers his hands.</p>
<p>Because anger is the easiest thing to feel, and it’s awful but at least it’s feeling. He clings to his anchor, lets it drag him down to deeper waters, because at least drowning in anger is a familiar feeling. At least it isn’t floating in the vast emptiness of nothing where he is no one. It’s awful and he chokes on angry tears, but it also reminds him that he is alive.</p>
<p>And when he looks back again, towards Tina, who’s looking on with understanding on his face, he knows he won’t have to cling to anger for very long. Because there’s a person with a lifeboat right there, willing to drag him back to the surface kicking and screaming if she has to.</p>
<p>He looks back at the painting on the wall and tags it with a nine, and hands the spray can over to Tina, who looks at him confused.</p>
<p>“Thanks,” he says, and doesn’t elaborate. She takes the can and shrugs, tagging it with a three.</p>
<p>He looks at his best friend, where she kneels in the filth of this alley. He wipes his tears, smearing black paint on his face, surely, but he doesn’t care. He thinks of all the things he could thank this person for, and doesn’t know how to say it.</p>
<p>But as she looks back, and laughs at how ridiculous he must look in the moonlight, as he surprises himself by joining in on her laughter, he thinks she understands the words he can’t say yet.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hope you enjoyed! I promise it will get lighter eventually, and nines will be introduced soon! Probably...</p>
<p>If you have any questions, comments, or concerns, feel free to reach out to me on <a href="https://tinydemondragon.tumblr.com/">tumblr</a>! I’m more likely to see it there first.</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Here we go agaiiiiin. Just.... for a different fandom. If you know me from There's a Beast in the Woods I promise that that will get updated... eventually... but I fell in love with this ship on accident rip. This is just a prologue which is why it's so short. Real chapter will be out tomorrow though!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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